


trouble in mind

by SadieFlood



Category: Ozark (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 19:10:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20894684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadieFlood/pseuds/SadieFlood
Summary: Helen decides to make a mistake.





	trouble in mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asuralucier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/gifts).

"You were right," Wendy says. "It's already different."

When she answered the call, Helen was anticipating a crisis, not chitchat.

But she's almost literally just arrived home, and the place is a tomb. A few minutes to build some bridges won't hurt. “Good or bad?”

Helen supposes she already knows the answer. “I didn't tell him. He didn't ask. He just knew."

"I'd like to think that's because he understands.” She doubts it. Marty Byrde is trouble; he's quick on his feet, but he's always struggling, reacting to some unforeseen catastrophe. Perpetually drowning. She thought the same, or less, of Wendy, until that business with the Snells' field. Helen generally abhors unexpected developments, but that particular surprise was intriguing, and it had gradually become very clear that the Byrde family's best prospects for long-term survival would not be in Marty's hands.

“I'm not sure he does,” Wendy says carefully.

"Fear's dangerous.” Helen's voice turns a little sharper than necessary, just enough to drive the point home. “If I were you, I'd work very hard to convince him there's nothing to worry about."

"He's so close to Ruth Langmore,” Wendy murmurs, as if she hasn't spoken. She wonders what, if anything, Marty told Wendy about her encounter with Ruth. Would Wendy be so inclined to confide in her if she knew? Helen isn't sure she knows the answer. “I'm not worried about him leaving town, or taking the children somewhere, but I am worried about that."

"Well, if it becomes a problem," Helen says, "you know who to call."

She's silent for a long moment. "Is that a joke?"

"You tell me."

"Either way, I've got your number," Wendy says. "Just in case."

"Good night." For some reason, she hesitates before hanging up. "I meant what I said before. The _Missouri Belle_ could be a great opportunity for you."

"Thank you," Wendy says. "And thanks for listening."

Helen ends the call.

*

She doesn't bother with _hello_. "How's Marty?"

"Fine," Wendy says. "Well, no change. But that's not why I'm calling."

"Another problem?"

"No, everything's going really well, actually," Wendy says. "I just wanted to know if you're planning to come down for the big opening next week.”

“I wasn't.” She doesn't say, _I hope I never have to step foot in the Ozarks again._

“No?” She seems unfazed. “I thought you might like to come down and have a look. Report to your client."

"My client's concerned with the bottom line," she says.

"I think they'll be very pleased." Wendy pauses. "To satisfy your own curiosity, then."

"What makes you think I'm curious?"

"Aren't you?" 

Helen doesn't respond.

"I mean, after everything that had to happen to get to this point," Wendy says, "don't you want to see how it turned out?"

She considers it.

Wendy's tone changes abruptly. "Well, I'm sorry to have bothered you, I know you're--"

"I was just thinking." The thought of voluntarily returning to that fucking Ramada on her own time doesn't exactly fill her with joy, but Wendy's not wrong; she is curious. "Maybe in a couple of weeks. After you've smoothed out any kinks."

"Great," Wendy says.

*

She can tell that Wendy is eyeing her as they walk through the casino, watching for any sign of a reaction. She maintains a blank expression until they're alone--well, relatively--outside on the upper level, by the railing. "I said you could see the rest of your life from here," she says, looking out into the darkness. "Looks like you made it happen.” She doesn't say _you and your husband_. “I don't speak for my client, and, of course, we'll need to look at the numbers when the time comes, but--it's remarkable. Truly."

"Remarkable," Wendy echoes. "Not impressive?"

"I wasn't aware this was a fishing boat," she says impassively.

Wendy gives up, laughing, and heads back inside, leaving her alone to observe the clientele. It's not exactly Monte Carlo, or even Atlantic City, but she supposes it's decent for the Ozarks. Tourists feeding bills into slot machines at every turn. It's a good start.

Wendy returns bearing two glasses. She holds one out to Helen.

"Club soda," she says. "You strike me as someone who prefers to remain in control at all times."

Helen accepts it. "Good call."

"A woman after my own heart," Wendy says, though her own drink is definitely not club soda.

"Where's Marty tonight? I thought I'd say hello."

Wendy purses her lips, just slightly, before she says, "He had some business to attend to. Elsewhere.”

She doesn't say anything.

"He trusts the enterprise.”

Helen watches her closely. "He never wanted to run this place." 

"It's more than that," Wendy says. "To Marty, and your client, and you, this place is just a means to an end. But I genuinely enjoy being here. Riding herd, I guess."

"I understand," Helen says, "_You _built this. It's satisfying."

"Satisfying," Wendy repeats. "Exactly."

"Well, off the record, I hope it works out for you."

Wendy smiles with exaggerated warmth, looking her in the eye, and says, "Thank you, Helen."

She sounds like a politician expressing gratitude for a vote. Helen leans forward and says, "How about a real drink before I go?"

Wendy blinks. Helen's intent was to throw her off-guard, if only for a second, and it worked. "You're going to drink and drive? Aren't you an officer of the court?"

"I have a high tolerance," Helen says. "For some things." _Not for being worked over_, she doesn't add.

"Well, of course." Wendy's stumbling a little, now. "Because you're tall, probably."

"Good eye." She winks at her. "Shall we?"

*

Helen nurses her Manhattan for the better part of an hour.

Wendy tries to match her restraint. However, she's already finished her first one, so she's at a disadvantage.

Their silent battle of wills results in an inordinate amount of small talk.

Helen knew plenty about Wendy almost from day one, but words on paper didn't give her the full picture. That hadn't come into view until much later. Conversely, Wendy only knows what she's decided to share. And that's how it should stay: arm's length. 

At minimum.

But they've already covered all the safe topics by the time Wendy says, "You said you're divorced?"

"Yes." She doesn't elaborate.

"Recently?" Wendy takes a tiny sip of her drink.

"Somewhat," she says.

Wendy takes it in. Maybe she's thinking about how her life would have been different if she'd done the same before Marty dragged her to the Ozarks. "Did you leave him?"

"It was a mutual parting of the ways."

"Well,” Wendy says, "you must feel so free now."

That is not a common reaction to her divorce announcement. She raises an eyebrow and lowers her voice. "Are you considering a change?" 

Wendy throws her head back and laughs. "That would be an extraordinarily bad idea for many reasons."

Helen's a little relieved that she didn't have to be the one to say it.

"But there was a time when I had a choice.” She traces the rim of her glass with the tip of her finger. “I sometimes wonder—well, I didn't make that choice. Clearly."

"In some ways, it is an improvement," Helen says.

"Can I ask what led to the mutual parting?”

Helen considers a glib answer, or no answer at all, but she settles on a simple explanation: “I didn't want to be married to him. He didn't want to be married to me.” It's half the story, but it's enough.

"I can see how that would make the situation untenable," Wendy says.

"You can say that again." Helen finishes the last third of her Manhattan. "Would you like a ride home?"

*

They ride in a silence that's almost companionable. Helen focuses on the darkness ahead, and watches carefully for potential hazards darting across the road in the middle of the night.

Wendy, two drinks in, stares out the window. Eventually she says, "You don't have to worry about Marty and me."

"I don't worry about you," Helen says. "I think you understand what's at stake. My client, on the other hand..."

"I used to think splitting up would destroy my family," she continues. "Now it would destabilize our business. Endanger our lives." She lets out a harsh chuckle. "We're partners in all of this, but that's as far as it goes. Especially after that change we discussed."

"Right," Helen says.

"But, honestly, I hope you understand that I would never do anything that would jeopardize the bottom line." A campaign promise delivered with hushed sincerity.

Helen glances at her.

"It's important to me that you do understand that. You _and_ your client."

She pulls off the road and kills the engine. "What is this really about?"

Wendy looks at her, wide-eyed. It's only slightly infuriating.

"Why am I here?"

She opens her mouth to speak but doesn't get a word out before Helen holds up her hand.

"Let's drop the pretense, shall we? No one is around to appreciate a performance. Winning me over won't help you if this endeavor fails. I promise you that my client will not care about my opinion or seek my counsel if this doesn't work."

"Okay," Wendy says slowly. "You want the truth."

"You should assume that's always the case."

She gets out of the car and stands outside for a minute, leaning against the hood. Helen supposes she's expected to follow, but she sits still long enough to make Wendy wonder if she'll just start the engine and be on her way. She probably should.

They stand side by side in the dark as she waits for Wendy to confess whatever she's holding back and Wendy considers how much to reveal. The stars are much more visible here than in the city, and for a fleeting moment she thinks that the Ozarks could be sort of nice, if it weren't for the people.

"All right, here's the truth,” Wendy finally says. Bitterness seeps into her voice; it could still be a performance, but at least it has the ring of truth. “You suggested that Marty knew about what I did--what we did--because he _understands._ Because he already knew who I am and what I'll do.”

Helen waits.

"He doesn't." She turns her gaze to Helen. "I've honestly never known anyone who really _got it_ and didn't pretend to be appalled. To be able to drop the pretense."

"How do you know I'm not appalled?"

"I know what _you're_ capable of," she says. "And you didn't send my calls to voicemail. You came when I asked. Maybe we're not friends, but you're not repulsed."

If she were smart, she'd get back in the car without another word, drop Wendy off with her fractured little family, and make it back to the city in record time. And start sending her calls to voicemail.

“I mean, am I wrong?”

She's still thinking about taking off when she notices that Wendy has moved closer. Much too close for comfort.

“_Are_ you repulsed?”

She's standing right in front of Helen now, and the sudden proximity sends her off-balance far more than the surprisingly weak Manhattan as it becomes clear that there's only one way this will end, and it isn't with Helen getting the hell out of Dodge.

Not yet, anyway.

She places her hands on Wendy's shoulders, holding her in place. "I know where you're going with this."

"And?"

"I won't insult you by suggesting that you're still just trying to win me over to save your skin. I do want to make sure you understand this won't affect anything else," she says.

"If I fuck up, if the _Missouri Belle _doesn't work, your client will have me killed." Her voice is almost a whisper. "And my entire family. Brutally. Painfully. Right?"

"I won't have any influence at that point."

Wendy grins at her. "I'm not going to fuck up."

"That's what they all say," she says.

In the dark, it's hard to tell, but she thinks Wendy looks bemused. "Do you always give a legal disclaimer before--whatever's going to happen here?"

"I don't usually make this particular mistake," Helen says, and kisses her for what could be seconds but feels like hours until another set of headlights appears in the distance.

After the car passes by, Wendy says, "I'd say 'your place or mine,' but under the circumstances--" 

This is it: the perfect opportunity to regain her senses, rationally evaluate the risks, and call it a night.

Instead she says, "Get in the car." 

*

Going back to Helen's disgusting motel room is a bad idea, not just because of the setting, but she does it anyway.

She can't even blame it on the bourbon.

Wendy's enthusiasm takes her by surprise, but Helen supposes that she has a lot of pent-up energy, too. It's been a long time since she's been touched, and even longer since she wanted to be.

And she does want this, even though it is going to create some massive fucking complications despite her best efforts, but her hesitation must be apparent because Wendy touches her face and says, "Are you still with me?"

This is the last potential out, and she should take it. Nothing's been done that can't be retracted, filed away, forgotten.

But Wendy's right; it is a relief to spend time with someone who knows what she's done, what she's capable of doing, what she might do in the future, and doesn't feign revulsion.

Someone who understands, and would do exactly the same if push came to shove.

"I'm with you," she says.

"Prove it."

So she does.

*

The sun is just coming up when she drives Wendy home. She has to admit that it's kind of pretty here, once in a while.

"Why don't you come in? I'll put on some coffee."

Helen eyes her. "That strikes me as a bad idea."

"There's a local reporter coming by in a couple of hours to talk about the _Missouri Belle_. You can observe the interview." Wendy reaches over and takes her hand. "Unless you have to get back to the city for something."

Another out she doesn't take. "No," she says. "I can stay for a while longer, if you don't think it'll arouse suspicion."

Wendy leans across the front seat and kisses her. "Don't worry about that." She gets out and says brightly, "I'll make breakfast."

Helen should leave, but instead she follows her inside.

The house is silent except for Wendy bustling around the kitchen, putting on the coffee and pulling food out of the refrigerator, turning the stove on, a flurry of movement. A performance for an audience of one. So far. "I had a _really_ good time."

"I know."

Wendy gives her a look, but she doesn't say anything further.

Marty is the first to arrive. "Helen stopped by on her way out of town," Wendy explains. "I gave her the grand tour last night."

"Right," Marty says. "How'd that go?"

"It's remarkable," she says.

"We missed you," Wendy says, and Helen almost laughs.

The son arrives and barely seems to register her presence. She wonders if he'll ask questions later. The daughter seems to be missing, and neither Marty nor Wendy seem surprised or concerned.

That may have to be addressed at some point, but not right now. 

Wendy is typically composed and poised during the interview, with Marty by her side, but she glances at Helen from time to time with a glint in her eye.

Helen recognizes that look, the thrill of a secret, performing for the interviewer as if only hours ago she hadn't been gasping against Helen's shoulder, back pressed against a thin, scratchy bedspread.

Last night was an exercise in poor decisionmaking that will undoubtedly have consequences, and a mistake that she absolutely should not make again.

But she's surprised to find that she doesn't want to file it away. 

After the interview, Marty quickly says goodbye and takes his leave. Pressing business elsewhere, no doubt.

Wendy walks her to the car. "I'm planning a visit to Chicago in a couple of weeks. Maybe we can get a drink. Or two." 

"Well, you've got my number," Helen says.

The look on Wendy's face suggests she thinks that's true in more ways than one. 

Helen starts the engine. 

It's way past time to get the hell out of Dodge.


End file.
